Aloud
What space are we willing to reserve for the voices of others? In a world moving toward individualism, where people listen to each other less and less, spoken or felt words can be a balm against isolation and a lack of empathy, a way to step outside of oneself. I was thinking about this the other day, after attending the complete reading of the Same as the shooting genre, by Miquel Àngel Adrover Perelló, in the Vella de Calonge church, organized by the poet, narrator, playwright and conspirator Joan Tomàs Martínez Grimalt and by the poet and cultural dealer Pau Vadell y Vallbona.
Beyond Adrover's magnificent anti-epic poem, which is, as Martínez defined it, a "transtextualization" of The legacy of Greek genius, Costa and Llobera's book, which we hope to see published soon, or more often performed on stage, caught my attention. How many opportunities does the island's public have to attend complete readings of moderately long literary works? I'm not talking about fragmented recitals or readings by more than one author, but about starting to read aloud from the first page of a book and not stopping until the very end. Like the literary gatherings held a hundred years ago at the homes of Joan Alcover or Guillem Colom, for example, where attendees often presented their new books, or at the now legendary novel presentations. If I were a carpenter and you called yourself Maria, by Blai Bonet, in which the author from Santanyí decided to present the book… Presenting it. That is to say: reading it all the way through to whoever bequeathed it to him.
Although it may seem strange, in other European countries, such as France or Germany, this is quite common practice, and people are happy to pay an entrance fee to attend. Here, however, we must refer to cases like Bonet's or a few exceptions, such as the complete reading of the hilarious and brilliantly insightful MyopiaMartínez Grimalt's first novel, shortly before its publication, was also read in the Vella church of Calonge. Or, to literary events held in the Principality, such as the Clásicos festival at the Casa de los Clásicos, where David Verdaguer, Elisabet Casanovas, and Carlos Cuevas read the In depth, by Oscar Wilde; the newspapers of Anaïs Nin and Life in the forests, by Henry David Thoreau, respectively, or the Alcools festival, directed by the poet and translator from Felanitx, Andreu Gomila, in which spectators have been able to enjoy readings or complete performances of Father, what do we do with our dead mother?, by Antonia Vicens; The zipper, by Martí Sales; theArnau, by Adrià Targa and the Luminaires Festísimas, by Oriol Sauleda, among others, in charge of the authors themselves.
Adrover's reading was no less crowded than a typical collective poetry reading or excerpt performance, yet everyone left with the feeling of having witnessed something unique and special. Perhaps it's a path worth exploring. Who says books can't also be read in community and with our ears?
